


Escape

by viictoriasong



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Slightly OOC Sherlock, set during series 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:49:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2602460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viictoriasong/pseuds/viictoriasong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With John temporarily unavailable, Sherlock asks Molly to assist on fieldwork. Things don't go quite as planned, and the pair finds themselves kidnapped. Hightened emotions and lingering feelings don't make it easy to be locked up in a tiny room together... (Set during series one)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escape

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, it's been a while since I published something. Real life obligations still ask for my immediate attention I'm afraid, although I did manage to finish this particular one shot today (I've been unable to get any sort of school work done the past few days, what is a girl to do? ;). Unbeta'd because I'm impatient, unbritpicked, etc. etc! Set during series one, but Sherlock himself is more like in series two and three. // Suggestions are always welcome and I wish to thank everyone who has left kudo's and/or comments since I started writing earlier this year - I'm often insecure and it really motivates me in a positive way. Cheers and enjoy!

It was dark and cold.

Molly’s throat felt like sandpaper and fog clouded her mind. Her limbs seemed made of stone when she tried to move. Slowly, she opened her eyes to dimmed lights. Her surroundings were completely unfamiliar, and panic seized through her. She fumbled to sit up right.

“I had hoped you’d stay down longer.”

A familiar voice reached her ears.

 _Sherlock? What the-_ oh. _Oh. OH GOD._

The adrenaline in her veins made Molly regain her wits, and memories of what had happened that night came flying back.

Sherlock had asked her to tag along on some field work – “John insists on going away on holiday with his girlfriend today but I _need_ assistance. This case is important!” – and she had agreed enthusiastically. _It’s not as if I get to see him outside of the lab much_ , Molly had reasoned. The case had something to do with art smugglers, he’d mentioned.

They met up just after midnight in an abandoned apartment building, in an area on the outskirts of London. Sherlock had been engrossed in studying a bedroom when suddenly, Molly had felt a hand close over her mouth and something sharp penetrate her neck. She had struggled, but her vision soon became blurry. The last thing she remembered was Sherlock trying to fight off another person.

Molly rubbed her eyes and looked around. They seemed to be inside of a shipping container: she sat on a simple camping bed, Sherlock opposite her on a chair beside a small table. Behind him were a tiny stove and refrigerator. On her left, an old, dirty curtain hang. She couldn’t quit see what was behind that.

Considering everything, the most logical explanation was that they were… Christ almighty. Bile rose in her throat and tears prickled behind her eyes. No, this _had_ to be some kind of nightmare.

“Please say that I’m dreaming.”

Sherlock snorted. “I’m fairly certain two people can’t have the same dream.”

“Then we are…”

“Yes. We were attacked and someone is now holding us captive.”

In sheer panic, Molly flew up towards what seemed to be the container doors. She shook them violently, but nothing happened.

“Save your energy,” Sherlock bellowed behind her. “I’ve already tried that.” Still, she continued to tug and shake the walls of her confinement, until she had to face what the man behind her had just said: it was no use.

She stepped back to the bed and dropped onto it exhausted. Molly was getting more terrified by the minute. “Please say you can get me out of here.” she muttered.

“Well, there’s always a way of escaping – but I need some time to uncover what it is for our particular situation.”

Had Molly not known Sherlock to be the most arrogant person alive, she would have sworn his voice was wavering.

“Time?!” she demanded

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes pinning her back with a heavy gaze. “There is only danger in lying to you right now, so I won’t. We have been drugged and are locked up in what seems like a shipping container turned office. While you were asleep, I inspected every inch of this thing and I don’t see any immediate ways of escape. Our captors have done a good job disorientating me, for I cannot check to see sunlight and they have smashed my wristwatch.” He held up his arm to show her a broken clock. “I didn’t not get a good look at what they injected us with either, so I cannot estimate how long we have been out and therefore, how far from London we might be.”

With all his bravado and intellect, Molly had always guessed Sherlock was the sort of guy that could get himself out of every problem. If even _he_ didn’t have the means to do so right now – Jesus. She buried her face in her hands, furiously rubbing to keep off tears. Getting hysterical felt like the most natural thing to do, but what would it help? She needed to get herself together.

She looked back up and sniffed loudly, whipping at her nose. “Who’s behind this?”

“I suspect the same men I was chasing. Going over the details now, the trail leading me to that building must have been fake and the entire thing a set up. The refrigerator is full and the shower,” Sherlock pointed towards the raggedy curtain, “has a new toothbrush and some shampoo. They _planned_ to lock me up. It’s all for one person though, so they must not have expected to find you with me.” The last sentence was spoken quietly, as if he didn’t quite want her to hear them. His eyes were guarded and flitted across her body to check her reaction.

Molly’s heart pounded heavily in her chest. “I’m collateral damage. Great, just great. You assured me the case was without risks!”

“And as far as I knew it was!” Sherlock spat back at her, angrily bashing his fists on the table. “I would have never asked you along if I knew it was dangerous. And I didn’t exactly plan to get captured, nor do I enjoy it very much if that is what you think!”  

Molly flinched under his harsh tone. She wasn’t angry with him: not wholeheartedly, for the accusation came mostly from frustration and panic. Being reprimanded by him didn’t exactly make her feel better either. Her fingers curled into the bed sheets. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t – fighting is the last thing we should be doing right now.”

Sherlock made a waving motion with his hand, brushing the topic off with a tense look on his face. “Let’s get back to me getting us out of here. Now, is there anyone that would be inclined to file you missing with the police?”

Molly mentally went over a list of family and friends, seeing if there was anyone that would notice her gone. “No, I don’t think so…”

“Are you certain?” Sherlock demanded.

She squinted her eyes, annoyed he wouldn’t believe her initial answer. “My father is dead, my mother lives in Australia with my older brother, my friends I don’t speak to on a daily basis, Stamford unexpectedly gave me two days off because I put in so much overtime and my next door neighbour won’t be alarmed by Toby wandering the hallway because she _knows_ I often work late. So no, not anyone. In a few days maybe.”

Sherlock looked away from her, his brow furrowed in thought. He absentmindedly put his hand under his chin.

“Is it important?”

His eyes snapped back to her. “I’m not sure what our captors have planned yet, but I’m fairly certain it is not ransom they’re after. It is therefore unlikely they have let anyone know we are in their custody. If anyone notices you have gone missing, at least there is word to the police something is amiss.”

“How about you?” Molly inquired.

Sherlock smiled ironically. “Let’s just say that what little people I am in contact with are used to long radio silence.”

That didn’t really surprise her. “Is  there… anything else I could help with?”

Sherlock stood up and removed his coat, draping it over the chair. He then stretched his limbs for a bit. “No. I will think of a plan and would prefer if you stayed silent while I do so.” He threw her a dark look to make sure she knew he wasn’t asking, rather demanding she keep her mouth shut. He sat back down and closed his eyes.

As usual, he did not leave much space for discussion. Left to her own devices, Molly decided to further investigate her prison. Sherlock had described the container as being an office, and she could see how he had come to that conclusion: much of the furniture was worn and dusty, and the drainpipes in the shower had definitely been build some time ago. The refrigerator was packed with fresh food, most expiration dates well into the future. The toothbrush Sherlock had mentioned had not been unpacked yet, and Molly found a towel with the price tag still attached.

What sort of place was this? When and where could a shipping container like this be of  any use to someone? Surely not within the city limits of London, Molly mused as she tried to puzzle bits and pieces together. Then, her stomach made a grumbling noise, and she decided to eat.

After finishing her meal, Molly went back to the bed. Sherlock still sat on the chair, his eyes closed and not making any sound. Molly remembered John talking about this, how his friend would retreat into something called his ‘mind palace’ to overthink problems. The anxiety and doubt that had slipped past his usual cool demeanour were gone, and sitting there so focused he once again became the man she had gotten to know over the past few months.

She couldn’t help it: she liked him. He didn’t always treat her nicely and she suspected his arrogant attitude covered up a lot of insecurity, but Sherlock was smart and _fit_ and bossing her around in that deep voice struck a chord inside her. Molly let her eyes wander over him. He had always seemed so lonely – perhaps that was why she put up with his childish ways, because she had once known such a loneliness too and wanted him too know he did not have to be.

Molly yawned. The gravity of the situation still frightened her and she did not want to think about the possibility of their captors coming in at any given time – but with her initial shock wearing off, the last traces of drugs in her veins made her sleepy again. She laid her weary body down and pushed thoughts of danger out of her mind. That was for later, now, she would sleep.

* * *

Waking up in the container a second time didn’t prove to be less shocking than the first.

Molly was coming back from her slumber when she had rolled against something warm and hard. Something very pleasantly warm, and she had eagerly pushed herself against it. Her cheek she put against a shoulder, and her left hand curled over a steady beating heart, brushing barely there hairs. Someone else’s hand closed over her hip.

The new position felt lovely – incredibly lovely, until Molly realised this was _not_ what she had gone to bed too. Her eyes snapped open, and Molly was horrified to see she was next to a naked Sherlock. Not completely naked, as he was still wearing a tiny slip, but enough to make her fumble back in embarrassment. In her hurry to get away, she did not register the bed ending and fell to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock said sleepily, haven been awoken by the commotion. He sat up on his elbows.

Molly wasn’t over her shock and kept her eyes away from him, mumbling some words. “I just- I really can’t be- Why are you bloody naked?!”

He looked at her with an annoyed expression, the one he would give when he felt she was asking something pointless. “I took my clothes off because I prefer not to sleep in my day to day outfits. And I’m not naked.” He held up the duvet covers – _When did he get us under that thing anyway?!_ Molly faintly thought when she momentarily lifted her gaze – so she could see what he was talking about. 

“I can’t sleep with you like this.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at that, genuine confusion on his face. “Why?”

Molly still kept her eyes trained to the floor. “I don’t know you like that!”

“I’m not going to take advantage of you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Arrogance had returned to his voice, and Molly could tell he did not really understand her reservations. “I just don’t feel comfortable lying with you in bed when you’re naked all right?” This time, is was she who put clear demand in her words and tone. She got up. “Go back to sleep. I’ll just – stay up and keep guard or something.”

Sherlock gave her a final confused look, then lay back down and turned over. “Suit yourself.”

Molly took to sitting in the chair, and kept her eyes trained on the shower curtain a long time before she felt relaxed enough to look back at Sherlock. The muscles of his back moved slightly under his skin as he tossed in his sleep.

Was it going to be like this? Christ, not to mention there was a _shower_. She hadn’t given any thought yet to how that was supposed to work…

Her cheek and fingers still tingled from where she’d touched him. Oh, it had felt great. Molly always enjoyed physical contact and she couldn’t deny how comforting it had felt to snuggle up to him. But still – they had never had physical contact before and there was definitely nothing romantic going on between them: that is what had made her push him away. She wouldn’t deny to having entertained thoughts on getting into his trousers – but those should be saved for when they were out of this mess.

Molly yawned: it seemed her body still needed sleep. She closed her eyes and stopped thinking of Sherlock’s state of undress, trying to get to sleep.

* * *

 Molly eventually managed to fall asleep again, but woke up abruptly by the sound of Sherlock rummaging around in the refrigerator. He was once again dressed in his signature tailored black trousers and shirt.

“Is there _anything_ to eat in this thing?” He grunted. “Beans in tomato sauce, corn, mashed potato… What horrid excuses for nutrition.” He pulled out pre-packed tuna sandwiches, and slammed the door closed. He went back to the bed and made himself comfortable.

“Nice of you to join me again. The chair served as a comfortable bed I take?” he asked with barely hidden sarcasm.

Molly stretched her muscles, painful from being in such an awkward position for some time.

“It was fine.” Molly replied firmly.

She got up, and searched for the kettle. Molly felt a nice cup of tea would do her good, and remembered seeing the thing when she’d scouted the place. “Fancy some tea?”

Molly turned to Sherlock in time to see him half choke on his sandwich. “I cannot let you use that stove.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Have you bothered to inspect it? And the gas tank? It’s ancient and by the looks of it hasn’t been used in years, we’d die of carbon monoxide poisoning before the water even boils!”

It was clear he wasn’t kidding. Molly sighed and stopped searching. She flopped back into her chair.

“What a shame. I was just starting to love it here and now this setback!” Molly liked cracking morbid jokes when the world seemed against her. She chuckled softly.

Sherlock quietly chewed on the last of his meal, not responding to her words but looking at her intently. He put his rubbish away and scrapped his throat. “I would not have gotten into bed with you if I had known it would make you uncomfortable.”

He surprised her. Molly had not expected him to bring up the topic again, and certainly not in an apologetic manner. He _was_ sort of apologizing wasn’t he? She looked at him with wide eyes, not sure of how to respond.

“I thought, considering that we are… _friends_ , you would not mind.”

‘Friends’, the way he had uttered the word after a pause, as if he was afraid to say it in the first place. Like he was scared he was wrong in labelling their relationship as such. This did not escape Molly – but she also felt her heart warm at it. She definitely considered them friends, but this was the first time it was named as such between them.

“It’s fine. I mean, I overreacted a little too. Still on edge over everything that’s happened I guess. It’s not like we have two beds, you have as much right to sleep in it as I do.” Molly ended with a nervous smile. But her words seemed to have put him at ease, as his face relaxed.

“Good. Yes, good. Now, I didn’t get the chance to tell you about my progression rescuing us did I?” Hopping from one topic to another as if it was nothing: he got up and moved towards the stove. He reached under it, and pulled out a long, thin metal object. Sherlock held it up with a smug little grin.

“As I conducted my second inspection of the container, I found this: a poker used for hearth fires. Obviously, there isn’t one in here, so the poker must have been left and forgotten when it was removed.”

“And what do you suggest we use it for?” It was a good find, but Molly couldn’t quite follow where Sherlock was going with this.

“If our captors decide to show up, we can defend ourselves.”

She wasn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of fighting their kidnappers off. “Can’t we… use it for something else? I’m not sure if it’s a good plan to try and fight our way out of this.”

Sherlock watched her for some moments, obviously unsettled with her rejection of his plan

“I’ll _happily_ listen to your ideas, if you think you can come up with something better.”

“Maybe,” Molly replied as she took the poker from his hands, “we can…” She turned in her spot, slowly letting her eyes go over the room they were in, “…use it to bash something in? The drainpipes in the shower? Or the bit of plaster there in the corner?” She pointed at the ceiling near the upper left corner of the doors. Unlike the rest of the container, there wasn’t steel but a large patch of plaster.

“The plaster won’t come done and we can’t fit through the drainpipes. Thanks for your input, but I think we’ll stick with my plan.”

Sherlock wanted to take the poker away from Molly, but she did not let it out of her grasp.

“And what if we use it to make noise? To try and see if we can attract someone’s attention?” Molly thought that would probably do some good.

He snorted loudly. “As if we’d be held captive where we could easily be discovered!”

“We don’t have a single clue where we are Sherlock, so you can’t know that for sure.” Molly walked towards the doors, lifted the poker and swung it. The sound of metal hitting metal was loud and shrill. “I think this could work.”

“I really don’t think you should do this.”

Molly turned to look at Sherlock again. “I think I should. The sooner I’m out of here the better.”

He threw his hands up in agitation. “I’m not taking over if you get tired.”

Lifting the poker up a second time, she started to steadily assault the door. “I’m fine, thank you.”

She heard Sherlock settle on the bed, and continued her work as she felt his stare burn into her back.

* * *

Molly had been banging the doors for some time when Sherlock suddenly appeared behind her, stilling her hands and pulling her back with him. He manoeuvred them behind the table, crouching down.

“I just heard gun shots.” He whispered.

The anxiety Molly had been successfully keeping down came rushing back to the forefront of her mind. Nauseous with fear, she leaned against Sherlock. Not soon after, a series of sharp clicks could be heard. It seemed the great detective had been right in his deductions as usual: those were indeed gunshots. They heard someone laugh, followed by footsteps.

Faced with the reality of their predicament so violently, Molly was shaken to the core. She could no longer contain her emotions, and pressed her face into Sherlock’s shirt. Tears soon made the fabric wet.

They sat in complete silence for some time before Sherlock eventually spoke. “They’re gone.” He stood up. Molly, still holding onto his shirt tightly, followed.

“I heard them go. You’re safe now.”

Sherlock had meant the words as a sort of encouragement for her to create some space between them, but instead she wrapped her arms around his waist and started sobbing loudly.

“Molly?” He stood frozen in her embrace. “ _Please_ stop crying.”

Her hands fisted the back of his shirt in anger: she wasn’t going to let him shut her down. “I’m really sorry for not being used to gun violence and reacting to it as a normal human being!” Molly retorted.

Sherlock stiffly placed a hand on one of her shoulders, a comforting gesture he wasn’t really used to giving. “You’ve been carrying this ordeal with more courage and strength than any average person would, but I need you to keep it together a little longer.”

She took a step back to lift her head and gaze up at him. He watched her intently, until his eyes softened considerably and he pulled her against him again. His hands found their way to the small of her back and he buried his face in her hair. “We’ll get out soon enough.”

“It’s just that – all of this is absolutely insane.” Molly replied. She couldn’t tell what had made his initial reservation about her tears melt away, but she appreciated it. She wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. His smell, his warmth, the proximity and the way his frame protectively bent around hers: _this_ was the comfort she needed right now.

They stood there for some time until Molly’s sobbing ceased and her breathing became quiet again. When he moved, she expected him to pull away.

Instead, he pressed a kiss to her jaw. Then one more. And another, and another, until he arrived at her mouth. He pressed his lips to hers and every rational thought disappeared from Molly’s mind. It felt good – so incredibly good and everything she wanted right this instant.

Their lips moved together softly, until Molly buried her hands in his hair to bring him closer and deepen the kiss. She moaned and slipped her tongue past his lips. His response was to gently bite her lower lip. He then moved to cover her face with feather light kisses, making sure not to miss a spot.

It was _heaven_ , pure pleasure – but not enough for Molly. As he caressed her neck with his lips, she slid her hands down and started to unbutton his shirt.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“God, yes. _Please_ Sherlock.” Molly huskily replied.

Sherlock chuckled at her response, and moved his hands to slide her cardigan down her arms. Then, he lifted her up and made the few steps to the bed. He gently laid her down and immediately moved along to be on top of her. Instinctively, Molly wrapped her legs around his hips and ground herself against him.

Her arousal only grew when he made short work of her shirt and bra, pushing them out of the way so he could lavish her breasts with attention. He nipped and sucked until Molly could do no more but wiggle impatiently under him. Her clit was throbbing and she needed friction to relieve the tension building up inside her. She undid the last few buttons on his shirt, then kicked off her shoes and stripped off her trousers and knickers.

“I need you now.” Sherlock didn’t need more encouragement, and put his face down to her vagina. He generously used his tongue and fingers to work Molly to the edge of orgasm. Then, he slid down his trousers and underwear past his hips and lined his hips up with hers.

His hands brought her legs up to lock together behind his back, and as Sherlock planted a firm kiss on her lips moved inside. He kept their  bodies pressed together, rubbing himself against her clit and nipples as he thrust inside her again and again at just the right angle.

Molly felt herself get closer and closer to orgasm, the way he moved making her feel absolutely wonderful. “More, please _more_ Sherlock just- I need – I want and just-” She let out a high pitched moan: the pleasure he brought on was divine. Sherlock was less vocal, but the way his breath came in short puffs and how his fingers pressed into her waist almost painfully were undoubtedly signs of his arousal.

A last firm thrust and Molly reached the precipice, toes curling and breath stopping in the throes of her orgasm. Sherlock kept moving inside her, before slipping out and rubbing himself against her wet slit until he too reached orgasm. He collapsed beside her, and they lay perfectly still, breathing heavily while coming down from their pleasure.

At a later time, Molly would probably chastise herself for this. _You don’t know him_ that _well? Did you stop and think if this is a one off for him, and if you want to same thing? Contraceptives, hello?!_ But not now. She was warm and her muscles felt like rubber and she wanted to curl up against Sherlock and do it some more.

Molly let out a content sigh.

“Are you feeling better now?”

Sherlock’s voice reached her through the pleasure induced fog clouding her mind. “Sorry?”

“The brain releases hormones during sex that soothe emotions and relax. I figured it would be a good way to help.”

Hitting her over the head with a brick would have hurt less. Just like that, two simple sentences made her drop from cloud nine. Her eyes flew open and she scrambled to sit upright, covering herself with the duvet. “Fucking _excuse me_?!”

But by the time she looked at Sherlock, his attention had already shifted considerably.

With a tense expression, he sat up and peered at the patch of plaster near the container doors. Quickly, he pulled up his trousers and moved over Molly to get out of the bed. 

“What are you doing?” He was already miles away and she could not understand what had gotten his attention.

Sherlock grabbed the chair and dragged it towards the doors. He then stood up on it, and inspected the upper right corner of the container. He clawed at it, and some plaster came falling down. Sherlock did it again, and more swirled down. He let out a triumphant laugh, jumped down and picked up the poker.

With harsh, steady blows, he rammed into the furnace of the ceiling. It came crumbling down until Sherlock had made his way completely through it. After what they would later know to be almost a day of imprisonment, they were looking at freedom again.

“Aha! I knew it!” Sherlock turned to Molly with a satisfied smile. “Pounding the walls so heavily must have weakened the plaster! Put your clothes on and gather your things, we’re getting out of here right now.”

Molly sat on the bed dumbstruck. An hour ago, she believed she was going to die, 30 minutes back she was having sex with Sherlock and now they were making a run for it? She felt beaten numb by all these highs and lows, but the thought of escaping pushed her into action. She quickly dressed and joined Sherlock, who had already put on his own coat.

“The breach is small, so you will go through first and then help me along.” Sherlock crouched down. “Sit on my shoulders, I’ll lift you up to it.”

“Just – just wait a minute. What if someone is still out there?”

"Christ woman! There is no one, I’m sure of it. Now get onto my shoulders!”

Arguing with an angry Sherlock had never been satisfactory for Molly, so she decided not to push the subject. Mentally crossing her fingers for a good outcome, she let him put his head between her legs and lift her up onto his shoulders.

“Stick your arms up so they go through first, then you can use them to lift yourself through.”

Molly did as instructed. The plaster cut into her shoulders painfully as Sherlock pushed to get her through as far as possible, and she fumbled to get hold of something to pull herself onto the roof of the container. When she got past, Molly let her body drop on the roof, panting heavily from the exertion.

She then allowed herself to take a proper look around: they seemed to be inside a huge warehouse, empty safe for the container. There were a few windows, and from what Molly could see the sun was rising. It had to be somewhere early in the morning.

There were no people and it was quiet, safe from Sherlock shouting at her from inside the container. Molly didn’t want to spent a minute more in this godforsaken place, and helped him up and out.

* * *

For Molly, the rest of their escape went by in a haze.

After getting down from the container and carefully inspecting their surroundings, Sherlock led her away. As he had already suspected, they were no longer in London: the warehouse was located in a rural area. They walked several kilometres, passing a number of fields filled with different crops, before arriving at a farm.

The tiny establishment was run by an older gentleman, and to not arouse suspicion in him for their dishevelled appearances, Sherlock told him they were a couple whose car had broken down some miles back. The man was kind enough to lend his phone and the detective immediately called Scotland Yard. With help of the friendly farmer, he was also able to give a location for the warehouse.

Once Sherlock had hung up the phone, relief washed over Molly. Their ordeal was over and they were once again in safety. She could finally let go of her guard, and exhaustion from all the stress and emotions came crashing down. Sherlock paced around nervously, waiting for the police as Molly sat down and tried to keep herself from falling asleep.

When the authorities arrived, she was swiftly taken away for a medical examination. Afterwards she was questioned by Detective Inspector Lestrade (“Don’t worry about it too much, we’ll do this again in a few days when you’re well rested.”), Sherlock listening in and giving the occasional extra detail. Both men went off after the conversation had ended.

This was the last time Molly had seen Sherlock in the aftermath of their kidnapping. She was taken back to London, were she had to give another statement to the police before she could return home.

Here she was now, in her own bed, with a nice cup of tea and three different kinds of biscuits. It had been three days since they escaped and Molly was starting to feel a bit like her old self again. Michael, a police officer assigned to her for protection while her captors were still on the loose, was watching TV in the living room.

A shiver went up Molly’s spine thinking about what she’d gone through. She was very thankful to still be alive, for the kidnapping could very well have gotten a different ending. There were also all the experiences and emotions she’d been dealing with. Being locked up with Sherlock bloody Holmes in something a kin to a prison cell had been quite the experience. He’d been his grumpy self, but he’d also been rather… _tender_ with her, ultimately leading up to them having sex.

Molly buried her face in a pillow as a blush crept up from her chest. _That_ was the one thing she especially did not want to think about regarding their time in the container. “Bloody embarrassing.”, she muttered to herself.

As she tried not to think about what had happened between herself and the detective, someone knocked on her bedroom door.

“Molly? Can I come in?” Sherlock’s voice unexpectedly sounded.

Molly quickly sat upright, straightened out her clothes and called out “Yes!”

Sherlock stepped inside, and he looked every inch his usual self. His coat had been cleaned, he wore a different suit and any trace of anxiety and anger had gone from his face.

“I have some news, and I figured it best not to wait in telling you.” He removed his coat and looked towards the empty side of Molly’s bed. “Can I sit?” She nodded, and he gently sat down beside her.

“As soon as we escaped, I was set on catching our captors. I can reveal I have successfully apprehended them.” Sherlock smiled gently at her. “You will remember I had asked for your assistance in a case involving art thieves. These men had planned to steal several pieces from a private collection and then flee to Switzerland, where they would be safe from prosecution under British law.” He paused briefly to look at her. “It turns out the men were aware of my reputation, and when they realised I was onto them decided to stop me from ruining their plans. They did not intend to harm or kill me, simply restrict my movements so they could steal and escape. I went back to the container and found it had an electric lock with a timer: a week after our initial incarceration, it would have opened the doors for us and we’d be able to get out.”

Molly slowly let out her breath. Knowing the men were in police custody was a relief. “I’m glad that’s settled then. And what about those gunshots we heard at the end? That were them too?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Nope. Lestrade and I did some enquires in the town near the warehouse and as it turns out, a group of teenagers likes to use the place to illegally practive with their fathers' guns.”

Molly leaned back against the headboard of her bed in astonishment. “We’ve went through the safest and arguably most comfortable kidnapping of all time,” she chuckled. “This has to the most bizarre experiences I’ve ever had.”

Sherlock nodded his head. “And exactly that makes it all the more interesting for me. I should write it all down one of these days, makes for a very thrilling case study.”

She looked at him curiously. He might be shrugging it off now,  having the knowledge they were not at any point in critical danger, but Molly was sure she’d seen panic in his eyes once or twice. 

“It’s… good that you’re taking it so well, but please look after yourself. If you ever need any help, you should call on John. Or Lestrade.” _Or me_ , she mentally added.

“What would I need help with?”

“You know, like, post-traumatic stress, nightmares, etcetera etcetera.” Sherlock gave her a look as if she’d gone mad. “Forget it, forget that I said anything.”

 Silence fell between them. Molly knew there were some things she still needed to say, but struggled to find the right words.

“I’ve also meant to say – thank you. For looking after me in there. I don’t know if I could’ve handled it so well without someone beside me.”

Sherlock’s expression, open and relaxed as it had been minutes ago, hardened. “It was my fault you were taken in the first place, so naturally it was also _my_ responsibility to get you out safely.”

“Is that why you-” Molly nervously fidgeted with her hands, feeling slightly awkward with what she was going to ask, “Is that why you had sex with me? Because you felt you _had_ to comfort me or something?”

If Sherlock was feeling uncomfortable at the mention of their shared moment, he easily covered it up with his rational way of handling things. “I suppose. You were obviously very upset and I figured you’d take comfort in physical intimacy. And like I said, hormones can-”

Molly closed her eyes and sighed loudly.

“What?! You liked it didn’t you?”

“I’m not going to thank you for pity fucking me Sherlock!” Molly crossed her arms in front of her chest in defiance. “If anything, I find it very offensive.”

“You didn’t exactly stop me.” He was now glowering at _her_.

“I’m not saying it’s all your fault. I obviously wanted to have sex with you at that moment, but I should have known better.”

“If you’re worried about our lack of protection: I don’t carry any STI’s and I made sure not to ejaculate inside of you.”

Another matter Molly had avoided thinking about, as the lack of responsibility that spoke from it made her insides turn upside down with guilt.

“Oookaaaaaay, that’s quite enough for me today, I’m getting another drink.” Quickly, Molly got up and out of her bedroom, leaving Sherlock behind with an amused expression.

She opted for more tea – that would take the longest to prepare – and spend the next minutes composing herself. Discussing sex was fine, but Sherlock’s detached way of doing so _did_ make Molly unsure of what to do.

When she returned to her bedroom, Sherlock had made himself a bit more comfortable and was lying down, hands behind his head and watching her with curious eyes.

“If you are disappointed at the circumstances surrounding our fist time of having intercourse, I would be willing to make it up to you.”

Molly’s eyes snapped to his, feeling baffled at his suggestion. “Is this a joke?”

Sherlock brow furrowed in confusion, unsure if he had let on anything that would make her think he was mocking her. “I’m very serious. I…” He lowered his gaze and muttered: “It was not my intention to offend you. In fact, I _also_ wanted to have sex with you then and there, for my own pleasure. I could show you again, if you’d be willing.”

Molly was stunned. At every turn, there was something new from him wasn't there?

“I’m not jumping into being your boyfriend, all I’m trying to say is: you like me and I like you. We could have an enjoyable relationship.”

A smile broke onto Molly’s face. Internally, all discomfort and guilt washed away under overflowing happiness. “Wait a minute.” She once again got up.

Sherlock heard her talk to Michael, after which she came back to the bedroom to rummage around in her bedside drawer. She was still smiling – whatever it was that she was doing without speaking, it had to be positive, he thought.

“What are you doing, exactly?”

“I’ve sent Michael out and I’m looking for my old stack of condoms. If you want to make it up to me, you can do so right now.” She triumphantly held out a blue foil wrapper to him, but then hastily added: “If that’s alright with you, of course. ” She nervously bit her lip.

A grin appeared on Sherlock’s face, and he gently placed his hands on her hips, pulling her towards him.

“I am more than alright with it, my wonderful Molly Hooper.”


End file.
